Page 25 of All Hale the Queen

“Only because you and Jordie take ballroom lessons every week,” his twin points out.

As they bicker amongst themselves, I notice Antonio hasn’t moved his gaze from the smaller man still standing in front of me with a hopeful smile on his face as he stares at my boobs.

“Go.” The word is low and menacing, and J.P. finally stops ogling me long enough to snap his gaze to Antonio, who utters only one more word. “Now.” It was spoken quietly but with enough heat to melt the polar ice caps.

J.P. takes a step back and flits his eyes toward me. “I’ll come find you later, Ophelia.”

“It will be kind of hard for him to come find you if I rip off his balls,” Antonio whispers so only I can hear as the other man scurries away like a mouse.

Nicolette, on my other side, links her arm through mine, and I swivel my head toward her to find a knowing smile on her lips. “That was kinda hot,” she murmurs.

I suppress a giggle because she’s not wrong. I think I like the possessive, alpha side of my date.

Chapter 9

Antonio

Ophelia is an absolute rock star. I watch as she flits around the room checking with her team while also taking time to stop and speak to the attendees. It’s astounding that she put this entire event together with only a small staff of volunteers. Everything looks beautiful.

The mix of people in this ballroom is eclectic, to say the least. There are local and state politicians mingling with men who are obviously part of the biker militia, though they have dressed up for the event. The room buzzes with power and influence from wealthy business owners, and sports stars from around the state make the rounds, ginning up excitement for the memorabilia that’s been donated for the auction while a band plays quietly enough to allow easy conversation.

“Sorry about that,” my stunning date says, walking up beside me. “They had a small issue at the bar I needed to straighten out.”

It’s almost impossible to take a full breath when she’s around. I’ve never seen a woman more beautiful. Her makeup is understated, and the soft waves that usually frame her facehave been straightened into a sleek bob that’s both elegant and sexy. Her black dress fits her to perfection, and I look forward to peeling it off her luscious body later.

“It’s no problem. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Her smile is coy and taunting. “Not right now, but I can think of something you could help me with when we get home.”

“Would this thing require the use of my mouth?” I ask, and she bobs her eyebrows at me.

“Among other body parts.”

“Watch yourself, love, or you’ll find yourself being carried to a back room and fucked over the first flat surface I can find.”

Ophelia taps one manicured nail against her lips, trying to feign nonchalance, though I can see a glint of arousal in her brown eyes. “Very tempting but dinner is about to start.”

As if on cue, the music pauses, and the lead singer of the band on the small stage announces that everyone should take their seats.

Dinner is flawless, and the conversation flows easily around the table. Besides Ophelia’s family, the hockey players and their wives are also seated with us, which makes sense since they are part of Jordie’s family. Despite the formal attire and elegant food, this event is turning out to be much less stuffy than I expected. The room is filled with friendly chatter and laughter rather than hushed, mundane conversations.

When dessert is served, Ophelia rises and takes the stage. Her speech is moving and heartfelt as she speaks about her sister and the work done by the Beverly’s Hope organization. She’s gracious when thanking the volunteers and donors, and there’s not a single whisper coming from anyone in the room. Ophelia holds us all hostage with her passion, and that hardened organ in my chest softens with her every word.

Jesus, I think I’m falling for her.

When she steps back from the podium with a sad but grateful smile on her face, I’m the first one on my feet, followed instantly by every other person in the room. No doubt donations are going to be through the roof this evening, and I’m so damn proud of her and everything she’s built. I’m not sure I’m worthy of this beautiful, intelligent woman.

The band kicks off again, playing a familiar pop tune that I’m pretty sure is a Taylor Swift song. Ophelia makes her way over to us, but it takes a while because no fewer than a dozen people stop her on her trek back. She seems to know everyone and vice versa. If Houston, Texas were a monarchy, I have no doubt Ophelia Oakley-Hale would be the queen.

As soon as she arrives, each of her sons rises to hug her and whisper against her hair. She’s raised some good lads, and they obviously adore their mother. Then her daughters-in-law and Serena take their turns. Jealousy floods through me because I want to take Ophelia in my arms and kiss the ever-loving shite out of her, right here in front of God and everyone.

But I can’t because I’m just the fake date,I think with more than a little bitterness. Instead, I take her hand beneath the table when she sits, giving it a firm squeeze as I lean subtly closer. “You were absolutely fantastic, darlin’. I’m in awe of you.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, her eyes meeting mine for a long second before Reno Swain leans across the table to offer his congratulations. But I continue holding her hand, clasping it beneath the table when all I want to do is show off that she’s mine.

Remi’s gaze meets mine across the table, and I wonder if he can read the thoughts I’m having about his mother. My shoulders tense, but when he offers me a small smile, they instantly relax. Then his eyes narrow as he looks behind me and stands, rounding the table to our side. I reflexively release Ophelia’s hand and instantly miss the softness of her skin.

“J.P. alert,” he says quietly, bending down between us. “Come dance with me, Mom.” I glance behind me to see that dumbarse man standing there with a look of disappointment as Remi leads Ophelia to the dance floor. What is the deal with that guy anyway?